The First Taste
by cowardlylion2
Summary: A short exploration of what Eric's first time feeding from a human might have been like.


_Disclaimer: Eric, Godric, and anything else True Blood related has never and will never belong to me. _

**The First Taste**

The first human Eric ever fed from had no taste, at least, none that Eric could remember.

It was a small boy, no older than five to be certain. Tears were leaking from his eyes profusely, dirt, snot and salt caking his face, patches of ashy skin the only proof there was a real person beneath the grime. Bloodshot eyes were locked onto bare feet, torn and bloodied from days of wear.

His hands rested on either side of his waist, toying absently with the dirt as he awaited his fate at the hands of the two strangers surrounding him. His cries dwindled down to no more than the occasional sob, too exhausted from his earlier wailing to spend energy on much more than remaining awake.

"He is an orphan." Godric told Eric, his voice soft as he stared at the child with pity. "His father died fighting and his mother fell to raiders. He would likely last but two days the way he was living. His body is weak, but his blood is strong, and will serve you well."

Eric did not hear, nor see any of this.

His eyes were fixed on the small, muddy juncture of the boy's neck that seemed to be beating obscenely. His ears echoed as though filled with the ocean, the only sound finding its way through was the speedy "ba-dump, ba-dump" of the boys heart, taunting, teasing Eric for a reason he wasn't entirely confident of.

His uncertain tongue probed the two fangs that had extended near the front of his mouth, careful not to break his skin on the sharp ends. End meant to pierce human flesh.

Still he did not move.

Instead, he sat there, slumped back against one shabby wall of the small home Godric had brought him to. His legs stretched straight out in front of him he leaned all of his weight on his left hand, eyes fixed intently on the boy in front of him, his tilted head resting on one shoulder tiredly.

Eric knew he should have been dead. His wounds had been more than enough to kill any man, and he was certainly no exception. Death had come for him, and this was what he had become.

What, exactly, that was, Eric still wasn't certain. He wasn't alive, the unnaturally cold feeling that washed over him, and the heart that no longer beat in his chest were proof enough of that. Still, he doubted boys such as the one before him existed in hell. The true answer was in the back of his mind, somewhere, but it was almost as though he didn't want to know it.

He wasn't sure what he was expected to do with the boy before him. He meant to ask the man that had brought him thus far, but was unable to force the words out of his throat that was, strangely, almost painfully dry.

Hesitation surrounded him, and he focused on the steady pulse that seemed to beat directly into his ears. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeply, smelling the coppery scent of the blood slowly oozing out of the old wounds on the boy's feet. The scent overwhelming him, Eric finally succumbed to the instincts he had been suppressing, and they overwhelmed him entirely.

When he finally moved, he was lightning.

To him, though, it was more like the world was moving slower. Time beat in pulses around him as he surged forward to capture the boy whose mouth had opened wide in terrified shrieks that never reached Eric's ears.

When his mouth bit down on the enticing pulse, he expected to feel some resistance. Instead, it was as though his fangs melted into the boys neck. His hands gripped tighter on the trembling arms of the boy, feeling, rather than hearing the snap of the bones as they broke beneath his grip.

Warm liquid filled his mouth, and he swallowed, allowing it to sooth the ache that had been building in his throat. His initial thirst sated he lapped and sucked at the puncture messily. He felt the heat of the boy's life as it surged down his throat and spilled down his unshaven chin.

He stopped feeding the moment his mind returned to him.

Sitting up straight he dropped his vice like grip on the boy, who dropped to the floor lifelessly, blood lazily seeping out of the two wounds Eric had administered only moments earlier. His clothes and face covered in red he felt nothing. No relief, no pain, and perhaps the most surprising thing to him was that he felt no pity for the boy in front of him, the boy whose eyes stared blankly back at him, unmoving.

Instead, he felt only the comforting taste of blood slowly growing cold as it lingered in his dead mouth, and the same dry ache in his throat he had earlier, a feeling he now recognized as a need for blood. Solid hands rose up to cold, steel cheeks, and pulled away covered in startling red blood.

Eric stared at the dirtied hands stretched out before him, feeling almost as if they belonged to a different person, someone who he would never know. "What am I?" He asked the man he knew was standing next to him, head turning slowly to meet the dark eyes that stared at him.

"You are someone who lacks manners." Godric said, a small chuckle in his words though his face betrayed no amusement. "Good thing we have time to teach you some. Get cleaned up. This time, you will find your own meal."

**End**

It turned out a bit more dark than I thought it would, but what can you really expect when dealing with vampires. I love Eric, and his character, and I very much enjoy exploring his character, and how he might react in different situations such as the one above. I hope to have more one shots exploring his character soon. Thank you for reading, and reviews would be very appreciated. I am very open and willing to listen to any constructive criticism anyone has to offer as I am always looking to improve.


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